


fight for me

by svitzian



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Derogatory Language, F/M, Fights, Minor Injuries, Post-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Protective Kanan Jarrus, Sexual Harassment, Twi'leks (Star Wars), i love star wars!, not sure how i feel about this fic. but im putting it out into the world., though it could be read as post also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svitzian/pseuds/svitzian
Summary: Kanan gets into a fight. Hera is very unhappy with him.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus & Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	fight for me

**Author's Note:**

> post a new dawn pre rebels kanera go brrrrrrrrrrr  
> i want to write more of these two. they're very challenging for me to get right, so i'm making no promises as to the characterizations here-- practice makes perfect though!  
> still not sure how i feel abt this one, but hope u enjoy <3

The disinfectant stings, and Kanan winces.

“Stay still,” Hera warns, low and serious and for the second time, and Kanan sighs, trying to steady himself where he sits and trying _not_ to think about Hera’s hands on him, one pushing his hair out of the way while the other attends to the nasty gash on his cheek.

“It stings,” he says, dumbly— _of course_ it stings, because they don’t have enough credits to get the good stuff, to get actual bacta. Hera knows this, and Kanan knows that she knows. He’s patched up her wounds before, too.

“I know,” Hera mutters, just as Kanan anticipated, and he closes his eyes, holding back a wince while she makes a second pass at the cut on his cheek. “And it’s going to keep stinging unless you stop moving and let me finish.”

There’s a million things Kanan could say to that, a million little jokes he might make. In any other circumstances, he would’ve thought of something to say. Now, though, the air between them is heavy and thick, Hera’s simmering anger palpable even without dipping into the Force, and for once, Kanan is smart enough to keep quiet. The last thing he needs is to irritate her even more.

He’d done enough of that, he figures, when he’d turned a cantina into a warzone just a little while ago.

He stays quiet while Hera works. It’s easier once she’s done with the disinfectant, setting it aside just loudly enough for him to know that yes, she’s still angry. Kanan almost wishes she’d say something, wishes she’d shout at him or cry or do _something_ other than just be utterly closed-off and cold—but he’s not in a position to ask for anything, so he bides his time in the awful, awful silence while Hera slaps a bandage over his wound.

“You’re done,” she finally says, stepping back, and Kanan dares to open his eyes again. The bandage feels heavy on his cheek, and there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t place once he sees the way Hera’s lips are drawn into a firm line, the way she crosses her arms resolutely over her chest.

He has no idea what to say or do, no idea how to navigate Hera’s anger. He’s seen her angry, of course, but it’s never been directed at him before, not like this, not even once. He swallows hard, and says the only thing he can think of that might not earn him another glare, or worse.

“Thanks.”

Hera’s lips curl into a frown, her nose wrinkling some, and Kanan instantly knows that it was the wrong thing to say _._

“Don’t,” she says, sharp and harsh. It feels like he’s been slapped.

“Hera,” he begins, then abruptly realizes that he has _no idea_ what to say and swallows hard. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

_That_ sets Hera off, and she steps back, glowering still. “Yeah? What _did_ you mean to do?”

It’s a good question. Somehow, he doesn’t think Hera would be satisfied with the truth— _I don’t kriffing know._

“I didn’t mean to…” He sighs, frustrated, as he tries to pick up where he left off, to put the messy feelings warring in his chest into words. “Mess up your meeting, or whatever, with your contact. I’m sorry that I did.”

Hera scoffs, and again, Kanan wants to wince. “You should be.” That’s fair, he knows, but _still_ , something about the harshness in her tone makes him wilt as she levels her gaze at him again.

“I don’t know what you did before I met you, and I don’t care,” she begins firmly, and Kanan’s mouth shuts tight, knowing that interrupting her now would probably be the last thing he’d ever do. “But that kind of behavior, starting brawls in cantinas? That’s not acceptable.” _Hells,_ her eyes are cold. “Either you learn to control yourself, or you’re off my crew.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, Kanan feels panic rise almost immediately, his eyes widening in a nearly helpless manner.

“ _What?_ ” He can deal with her anger, that’s fine. Stars know he probably deserves it. But to be booted off her ship, off her crew… No. He can’t do that. “Hera, I just wanted them to stop—”

“Stop what?” She’s quicker than he can prepare for in his still half-shocked state, and he blinks as her frown deepens. “Stop being assholes? You think some punk starting a fight with them when they’re drunk off their asses in a backwater cantina is gonna accomplish that?”

Where the _hells_ is _this_ Hera coming from? “No, that’s not—that’s not what I’m talking about, Hera, I—”

She doesn’t let up. “You _what,_ Kanan?”

Heat gathers in his face, the cut on his cheek twitching in pain as frustration finally bubbles up and out of his mouth. “I just wanted them to stop talking like that.”

The anger buzzing in the air between them fades away into a sudden silence. Kanan doesn’t breathe for fear that it might be the end of the world if he does, waiting, utterly still, until Hera speaks again—and when she does, her tone entirely different, his heart plummets.

“So that’s what this is about.”

She doesn’t sound cold anymore. She doesn’t even sound angry. She sounds like she’s trying at both of those things, sure, but underneath it all, whether through the Force or through just _knowing_ her, Kanan senses what’s in that tone of hers.

_Hurt._

Somehow, he’s fucked up—and fucked up _bad._

“Hera,” he begins again, her name both a plea and an apology. “I don’t…” What is he supposed to say? What _can_ he say?

The only indication that Hera is even alive is the sound of her voice. The rest of her, as still as a status, is an unnerving sight. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

Kanan blinks, once again caught off guard—and then, once he’s processed her words, he shakes his head quickly, his brows furrowing. “No. No, that’s not… of course you can. I know you can.”

“You didn’t think I had that under control?”

Kanan’s frown deepens. He knows what he _should_ say, knows what would make her lighten up on him, if such a thing were even possible at this point, but…

“You weren’t going to _do_ anything.” All she’d done was sat there, silent and stoic and nursing her drink as though half a dozen drunks weren’t shouting back and forth across the bar about her.

Hera doesn’t flinch. “No. I wasn’t.”

Abruptly, Kanan wonders if he’s losing his Sith-damned mind. “You wanted to just—let them _say_ that stuff?”

The slightest bit of tension in her shoulders. For a moment, Kanan thinks he might actually be getting somewhere here, but then her expression hardens further. “Say _what_ stuff, Kanan?”

The words are spoken like a challenge, but they can’t be. Surely she doesn’t want Kanan to _repeat_ those things. He shakes his head, still not understanding. “You know what they said.”

“About what a good lay that Twi’lek bitch must be?” Hera speaks so matter-of-factly that Kanan has to blink to make sure it’s actually _her_ —but there she is, gaze stone cold, lips moving, voice repeating the same things that had been sneered and shouted and slurred while she sat unmoving and Kanan fumed. “Or about how sweet a tight Twi’lek cunt really feels? Or—”

“Hera,” Kanan tries, voice as firm as he can force it to be, but it doesn’t stop her—nothing will.

“ _Or,_ ” she pushes on, pressing forward as though interrogating him, “how a nice, pretty Twi’lek slut like that one over there is only good for being a kept slave?”

_That_ was it, the comment that had sent him from their little corner booth up onto his feet, had sent his fist connecting with the face of the nearest unlucky asshole jeering at his captain—and now, even coming from Hera’s own lips, it makes him bristle, his jaw tightening as he looks up at her.

She doesn’t give him a chance to speak, though, raising her tattooed brows expectantly. “Well? Which one shouldn’t I have let them say?”

Were he less of an absolute idiot, he would’ve known to back down. Unfortuantely, being an idiot seemed to be Kanan’s primary talent these days.

“You shouldn’t have let them say any of it.” The words fell from his lips before he could think about them, before he could come to regret them, and his gaze didn’t fall from Hera’s.

“Yeah? And what should I have done?” She finally, finally slips from the rigid posture she’s been holding, only to gesture an arm angrily towards Kanan’s face, towards the bandage on his cheek. “Started a brawl? Is that it?”

Kanan swallows, a defensive instinct swelling within him as he presses his lips together. “If you had to.”

Hera scoffs. “And what about the next cantina, when I run into the next band of assholes? Should I fight them, too?”

She’s trying to make a point, but Kanan’s too angry, too frustrated, to even try to see it, his jaw tightening further. “If you have to,” he repeats.

This time, she _laughs,_ and it only stokes that frustrated fire inside his chest as she shakes her head at him. “Not all of us run around the galaxy picking fights, Jarrus.”

Finally, Kanan stands, unable to take any more of this sitting. “ _They_ started it. They were saying those—those _things_ —”

There’s a flash of something else in Hera’s eyes when she looks up at him, closing the distance between them without a trickle of fear. “Do you think I haven’t heard it before?”

Struck dumb with how absolutely _close_ they are, it takes Kanan a moment to process the question, another moment to think of a response. “That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Because I have,” Hera continues, unyielding and uncompromising and glaring up at Kanan, whose frustration is now twisting into something far worse, and far more uncomfortable. “I’ve heard that talk a million times, and I’ll hear it a million more, in every cantina I walk into, every _stupid_ , shithole spaceport in the Outer Rim. No cantina brawl is going to change that.”

Kanan’s not ready to give up yet. “I’m not saying it’ll _change_ anything.” She’s the one who’s always talking about change, always talking about her impending revolution. That’s _her_ business, not his, and Kanan wants no part of it, thank you very much.

Hera, apparently, still doesn’t feel like giving him enough time to finish his thoughts. “What’ll it do, then?”

Kanan presses his lips together. “Make them shut up. Like I said.”

Hera exhales in a huff, and finally turns away, busying herself with putting away the medkit. It’s probably just an excuse to put some distance between the two of them again. “And scare away my contacts, while I’m at it.”

Kanan’s exasperation reaches a boiling point, and for the first time, he dares to challenge her. “You wanna change things?” Hera’s lips curl in warning, but that doesn’t stop him. “How the hell are you gonna _change_ things by just sitting there and doing _nothing,_ Hera?”

Just like that, the coldness is back, rushing over Hera’s demeanor like some kind of icy waterfall. Kanan can almost feel the chill, even before she speaks.

“I _am_ doing something.” She grips a spare roll of bandages a little too tightly, stuffing it inside the old medkit case. “Something that’s going to be more important than any bar fight on some backwater world, even if you don’t believe in it. _That_ is what’s going to change things.”

Never before has he insulted her cause. Seeing the changes it brings to her expression, her voice, Kanan suddenly understands why. As foolish as he might think her unwavering faith in the _goodness_ of the galaxy’s people is, or her belief that said proposed goodness would somehow magically triumph over all the evils of the Empire, all the evils of the galaxy at large, she _believes_ in it, in a way Kanan hasn’t believed in anything for a long time. It means something to her, foolish as it might be, and reluctant as he is to admit it, _she_ means something to _him._

And no matter how much he disagrees with her, no matter how much they differ in their beliefs, he doesn’t have the heart to dash that spirit of hers.

The regret of having tried to do as much is enough for a small swell of guilt to break through Kanan’s frustration once more. He doesn’t know what to say, exasperated and tired and wishing that he understood this mad woman and her mad, dearly-held convictions, so he lowers his head, lets his posture slump in an admitted defeat, and says the only thing that he can think to say once again.

“I’m sorry, Hera.”

Hera appraises him for a moment. It feels like a test, like she’s waiting for Kanan to say something more. He decides to do the smart thing for once in his life, and keeps his mouth shut.

It must be the right answer, because Hera’s face softens, almost imperceptibly.

“I’m glad that you are,” she says, her voice just a fraction softer, and crosses her arms over her chest in a way that’s not immediately hostile. “And I… I owe you thanks. You didn’t have to do all that, but you were trying to do the right thing. Thank you, for that.”

Kanan could’ve expected a lot of things to come from Hera’s mouth, but thanks wasn’t one of them. He blinks in surprise, and he must look like an idiot, because Hera’s lips quirk up just slightly at the edges, the sign of a smile she’s trying her best to hide despite the lingering hesitance in her gaze.

“You’re more of a revolutionary than you think, Kanan.” The words seem to satisfy her, though Kanan still feels lost— _him,_ a revolutionary? Maybe she got her head knocked around in that brawl after all.

“Don’t know about that, Captain,” he says after a beat, hesitant and testing the waters between them. Him, a revolutionary.

“You are,” Hera insists, and there’s still that odd look on her face, dryly amused and yet entirely sincere and almost vulnerable in a way Kanan so rarely sees from her. “The two of us just have very different styles.”

Kanan tries to think about that for a moment. He knows her style well enough, slinking around, gathering information, believing in something so wholeheartedly that it scares Kanan, sometimes. His _own_ style, though… as far as he’s concerned, that’s mostly just being a general mess of a person and trying to stay alive. He hasn’t been concerned with much else in a long time, no matter what Hera seems to think.

Still, if she wants to think highly of him… he won’t be the one to rain on her parade.

Seeming to take his silence for agreement, Hera picks up the reassembled medkit, something distracted—or maybe just tired— mingling with just the barest hint of fondness in her gaze. “Get some rest, Kanan,” she says quietly, sobering somewhat after a moment. “And tell me that you won’t try something like that again.”

Kanan looks up, conflicted for a moment and still entirely unsure of whether or not he’d be able to stand doing nothing in a situation like that—but after a beat, he decides that he’s far less able to stand doing anything that would upset the woman standing in front of him. Whatever she wants, whatever she thinks is best… well. Kanan will follow, no matter how revolutionary, no matter how foolishly brave.

After all, what else has he got to do?

“Alright,” he agrees, dipping his head her way just once in an acknowledgement of his own agreement. “I won’t.”

Hera reaches for the controls to his bunk’s door, but not before a smile spreads across her lips, gentle and subdued— but this time, it’s just enough for a sparkle to reach her eyes, too, and Kanan feels a lurch of hope in his chest.

“Good,” Hera says, smiling that sad, tired, honest, vulnerable smile, and then—“We’ll make a rebel out of you yet, Kanan Jarrus.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi! thank u for reading, and i hope you enjoyed!!! if u would like to leave one, kudos + comments always make me feel very happy.  
> as always, you can find me....  
> on twitter: @g0nkdroid  
> on tumblr: @dotnscal


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